


Tu es le grand soleil qui me monte à la tête

by Grand Buzz (quodpersortem)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - College/University, Don't let the relationship tags scare you, Drunk confessions, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Gift Fic, Implied Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Oneshot, Self-Discovery, You probably shouldn't read this, it's really just Larry and Ziam, lots of getting drunk, warning for emetophobics!!!!, with past everything else apart from Harry/OMC but OMC is mentioned very little/only a plot device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:15:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Grand%20Buzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is straight, or so he thinks. That is, of course, when he runs into Harry Styles and decides to befriend him. Everything isn't quite as expected from there on.</p><p>Birthdayfic for Roxy <a href="http://stylinnuendo.tumblr.com/">Stylinnuendo</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Tu es le grand soleil qui me monte à la tête

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toungetied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toungetied/gifts).



> Title means "You are the great sun that gets to my head", it is a sentence from Paul Eluard's wonderful poem "[Je t'aime](http://mahmag.org/blog/2011/02/02/i-love-you-je-t%E2%80%99aime-by-paul-eluard/)" (I used a free translation so it differs a little from the translation I link to).

It all happens by chance.

Louis is running late for his evening lecture, but he knows he won’t make it through the next two hours without at least _something_ in his belly.

There’s a bakery on the corner of the flat he shares with Zayn, although they don’t ever go there because it’s all so bloody expensive. Now he does, though, staring at the display for probably just ten seconds before he tells the—boy, early 20’s, and his minds adds a distantly noted _surprisingly handsome_ —at the counter, “I’d like two doughnuts, please.”

“You’re in a hurry, then?” the boy asks in a slow drawl, and if Louis hadn’t been mesmerized by the deep pitch, he would’ve been annoyed. Because he has to get moving and he doesn’t have time for slow people.

“Yes, I am,” he nods, and the boy smiles—there are dimples, Louis catalogues—before grabbing a bag and putting the doughnuts in it. “How much is it?” he asks.

The boy is still smiling when he says, “They’re on me. Just do well at work, or in Uni, or wherever you’re hurrying.”

Louis barely manages a quick “Thanks!” before he’s hurrying out of the bakery, ears burning even though it’s not exactly cold outside, the October weather only bringing mild autumn storms so far.

-

He sits down in the back of the lecture hall, eating his doughnuts as quietly as possible. There are a couple of napkins in the bag too, slightly soaked in the grease of his snacks, but Louis uses them to wipe his mouth and fingers as clean as he can anyway.

The only thing he wants now is a cup of tea, but because that’s impossible he sighs and takes out his notebook.

-

Louis doesn’t know what draws him back into the bakery. He could say it’s the delicious smell, but he’s ignored that plenty of times before, or the rain outside, but idem ditto.

Instead he pretends it’s the fact he never paid for his pastries. Normally he’d gladly have accepted them without paying and not have thought about it again but—the thing is—

The thing is, Louis feels _guilty_.

Because the boy said the doughnuts were on _him_ , which means that he likely paid for them out of his own pockets, and Louis figures he’s a poor student just like himself. And the price of the pastries is exactly why he and Zayn go to the convenience store down the street instead.

“Hey,” the same boy greets him when he steps in.

“Hi,” Louis nods at him. “I uh—“

“You enjoyed the doughnuts enough to come back?” The boy is smiling at him, elbows leaning on the counter, and his sleeves are pulled up enough that Louis can see tattoos on the boy’s wrists.

“I did enjoy them, yes,” Louis nods. It took a couple of seconds before he found his footing, but once those words are out of his mouth, it’s easier. “I just—I didn’t want you to pay for them, you know?”

“Why not?” the boy shrugs, still smiling and with sparkling eyes. “I get an employee’s discount. You seem like a nice enough lad. I like making people happy, there are plenty of reasons why I _should_ have.”

“Oh,” Louis stammers, because he tried to be selfless but he can’t go up against this kind of conviction of good will. “Okay, um. Yeah.”

“But,” the boy continues when Louis wants to turn around to leave, “we could hang out sometime, if you’d like?”

“Yeah sure,” Louis exhales, stepping closer to the counter. “Where do you live?”

“Just around the corner,” Harry says, pointing in the opposite direction of Louis’ and Zayn’s place.

“On your own?” he frowns, but Harry shakes his head.

“Guy called Niall. I just moved here, though, transferred from Manchester Uni.”

There are a million more questions Louis would like to ask Harry in that instant, but instead he settles for, “I live around the other corner with a mate. Me mum wanted me to go to Manchester Uni too, but, you know, London seemed more attractive at the time.”

He leaves out the bit that he’d been with Eleanor back then, and that the initial plan was that they would move into a little apartment together as soon as they had enough money to pay for something else than the shitty student dorms on the campus; leaves out that that never worked out but he did have to redo a year because of their break-up.

“So, how about tomorrow evening, at eight, maybe nine o’clock?” the boy asks, grabbing a piece of paper off the counter.

“I don’t even know your name,” Louis snorts, and the guy lets out a startled laugh.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot, I sometimes forget—I’m Harry,” he reaches his hand over the counter to shake Louis’, and it’s slightly greasy with what Louis thinks is butter.

“I’m Louis,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, Louis,” Harry drawls.

“You too, Harry,” he responds. “Nice tats, too.” Then he scribbles down his address, and adds his phone number for good measure. It feels strangely like setting up a date, but he doesn’t mention it when he hands the paper back

“See you then, I guess,” he smiles.

“Yeah, see you,” Louis nods.

-

Sure as hell, Harry shows up at eight-thirty the next evening.

Louis is still eating pizza, and he’s still wearing the same shirt he’s been in all day because he figured he’d have enough time to change before Harry got here—but Harry doesn’t seem to mind and Louis doesn’t particularly give a shit about his appearance when he doesn’t have to go out.

Harry’s wearing short sleeves that show off his tattoos properly—mostly on his left arm, which makes Louis snorts as he stares unabashedly, because his own are on his right arm.

“That’s at least hobby we’ve got in common,” Harry smiles at Louis, and Louis nods.

“You should see Zayn,” he tells Harry. “He’s well on his way to two full sleeves.”

“He’s not around?” Harry asks, and Louis shakes his head.

“Nah, hanging out with Liam again, probably.”

“Liam?”

“Liam and Zayn are best friends,” Louis shrugs, and then he goes to turn on the xbox because the conversation is quickly getting awkward.

 _Best friends_ is a bit underrated, for whatever Zayn’s got going on with Liam, but Louis isn’t about to dig into exactly _what_ those complications mean. He doesn’t know the details and doesn’t want to know the details, he only knows that when Zayn was still with Perrie they had screaming matches about it.

“Okay,” Harry nods.

-

By the end of the evening, they’re on a tie, although Louis suspects they’ve let each other win on occasion. He knows that _he_ has, with how rubbish Harry was at Mario Kart when they first started and how rubbish _he_ is after several beers.

“I think I should go home,” Harry sighs, stretching out his legs. “I’ve got a date tomorrow.”

“Ooh la la,” Louis grins, and elbows Harry’s side because he can and doesn’t care ‘cause he’s drunk. No, wait, he’s tipsy. “Who’s the lucky girl, then?”

Okay, maybe he’s a _little_ drunk, because Harry has to push him off.

“Mmh,” Harry is still smiling at him, keeping him at a distance.

“C’mon, can’t be that embarrassing,” Louis smiles, and he’s sure it looks a little loopy because Harry shakes his head and laughs.

“You don’t know he—“ he takes a deep breath and then he laughs again. “Okay you know what? I came to London for this guy, so, I have a boyfriend.”

Louis can feel the smile drop from his face, and Harry immediately looks worried. The world goes a little quiet around him, something plummeting in his stomach and it makes him feel weird, not hungover-nauseous but a little ill nonetheless.

“I—It’s—“ he stammers, and then Harry’s getting up, looking upset, pained like Louis punched him. Louis moves before he can think about it, fingers closing around Harry’s wrist; the one with the anchor tattooed on. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I just didn’t expect it, okay?”

Harry nods, not looking at Louis.

“We can still be friends, okay?”

“Okay, but I do think I should go now,” Harry tells him quietly, prying Louis’ hand from his wrist, and Louis only nods.

-

Louis is not sure why it was such a shock that Harry’s gay—he’s never had an issue with gay people before. Hell, he’s pretty sure Zayn and Liam aren’t straight, and he never really had an issue with _that_.

And he talks about it with Harry because he doesn’t deserve homophobia, even if it comes in the shape of Louis’ unwarranted shock. Harry laughs like the sun is always out and it is, quite frankly, ridiculous.

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever met someone happier than Harry. That is, until the first time he goes over to Harry’s place.

They’ve settled into a comfortable friendship over the past couple of weeks, where they go out for drinks or Harry comes over to Louis’ to play video games or watch a film. Sometimes Zayn’s there as well, and Louis is pretty sure that they get along better than Louis does with Zayn which—should be surprising but it isn’t, not really. Harry seems the kind of person who gets along with everyone.

The boy who opens the door isn’t Harry, though. Instead he’s got a bleach-blonde quiff and a ridiculous grin on his face.

“Niall?” he guesses, because it’s either that or Harry’s boyf—and the boy nods.

“You’re Louis then?” he asks with a thick Irish accent that makes Louis smirk and nod.

“Yeah, ‘s Harry around?”

“He should be out of the shower in a sec,” Niall waggles his eyebrows.

“Eh, I’m not gay—“ Louis protests, because he’s _not,_ definitely not.

And he’s secure in the knowledge that seeing Harry right out of a shower wouldn’t affect him in any way, because he’s straight and all, it’s just that it would be a little weird to—

“Hey, Louis,” Harry greets him, and it’s worse than he’d thought because Harry’s not wearing any clothes.

There’s not even a towel to cover up his dick (it’s larger than Louis’ too, which, fuck, his own size’s something he used to pride himself on and something Eleanor _definitely_ liked as well). Or his pert little bum, when Harry turns around to go into what’s presumably his bedroom.

“You’re staring, mate,” Niall laughs, slapping his shoulder. “Not the first _straight_ lad he’s had that effect on, either.”

“Bugger off,” Louis grumbles, and that’s the moment where it’s confirmed that while Harry might be a ray of sunshine, Niall’s actually got the burning sun shining from his ass. Ergo: he laughs off Louis’ insult and continues making a pot of tea in the kitchen, chatting away happily until Harry returns, decidedly more clothed (and, Louis admits reluctantly but _only_ to himself, decidedly less distracting).

“I don’t really have any new games,” Harry tells him, turning on the telly. “I mean, most of them don’t work on Niall’s Playstation3. So, I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Louis says, and he’s looking at Harry’s bum again, and Niall’s wiggling his eyebrows at him again. He frowns at Harry’s flatmate and decides to not do that again.

Still, Harry sits so close to him on the couch that they keep elbowing each other and Louis _keeps thinking about it_.

By the time he gets home, he’s got a blinding headache, and when Zayn asks him what’s wrong he only grumbles out a “nothing” before going into his room and collapsing on the bed.

-

Louis manages to not think about it for a couple of weeks.

On Friday, Zayn drags him out to a bar. Ed’s playing, and Louis thinks he sees Harry’s curls once before they disappear again and it makes him breathe a little more easily.

He’s forgotten about that by the time he’s chatting up a brunette, curly haired and with a sweet smile—and so what if Louis’s had a type ever since he dated El?

She laughs meekly at all of his jokes, and her lip gloss tastes sweet when he kisses her.

He doesn’t take her back to his own apartment, because Zayn promised Liam he could stay over, and instead tags along with her. They’re three streets down from where Louis lives, but it’s okay. Her apartment’s a single, small and cramped and a little musty with unwashed dishes which reminds him of his own place but not of Harry’s—and it’s weird that Harry pops up in his mind while a girl’s on her knees in front of him, about to suck him off.

Louis ends up carrying her to the small bedroom, where she’s got a barely-big-enough-for-two bed that he fucks her on, burying his head in her curls but only for a moment because her sickly sweet perfume makes him gag.

It’s not as good as he remembers.

Louis isn’t sure what to make of that, if it’s him or if it’s the girl or if he shouldn’t ever have left Eleanor.

It’s—

When he leaves her while she’s cleaning up in the shower, tossing the condom in a bin he finds under her kitchen counter, he can’t remember ever being this dissatisfied.

There’s a sick curl unfurling in his stomach even though he’s outside in the cool air, and although he’s not sure it’s the alcohol, he barely makes it back to the flat before he hurls into the toilet.

Liam comes to bring him some aspirin and a glass of water, smiling apologetically as Louis groans and flushes the toilet.

“Didn’t expect you here this soon,” he tells Louis when he sits down on the lid.

“Didn’t feel good,” Louis tells him, rubbing at his eyes before he drinks the water. It’s true too, except in more ways than the one it appears to be.

He cracks open an eye and watches Liam watch him for a while.

“Is that Zayn’s shirt?” he eventually asks, and Liam looks down at himself.

“Uh, yeah,” he shrugs. “Borrowed it. C’mon, Lou, I’ll help you to bed.”

-

By the time Louis finally gets out of bed the next morning, Liam and Zayn are already up and playing games.

-

The next Friday he goes out with Zayn, Liam, Niall and Harry.

Harry’s boyfriend isn’t tagging along, and Louis doesn’t mind. He knows he should want to meet the guy, probably, but—he _can_ be weirded out about one of his friends actively fucking dudes, right?

He’s feeling a bit weird about Zayn and Liam too, who are getting increasingly cosy opposite of him right now.

It takes a moment to register he’s got Harry’s lips brushing his ear, but only to whisper, “Are they together?”

Louis cocks his head in the direction of Zayn and Liam, and Harry nods. And—and some things would make sense if they were, like Liam giggling something into Zayn’s ear, his arm wrapped around Zayn’s shoulder. It’s just that Zayn used to be dating Perrie and Liam was with Sophia and—no, it actually _really_ makes sense when he realises they broke up with their girlfriends within a week of each other.

Louis can feel how his own eyes widen, a blush creeping onto his cheeks as he nods, and Harry snorts into his ear still. “Thought so,” he says before leaning back.

Louis is gonna need a stiff, stiff drink after this.

Or maybe that’s the wrong pun here, he’s not sure.

-

Zayn goes home with Liam just before one, which definitely confirms _that_.

“So he didn’t tell you yet?” Harry shouts over the music. They’re both watching Niall on the dance floor, flailing around one girl and when he’s getting turned down, moving on to the next. Louis feebly cheers when a girl swings her arms over Niall’s shoulders.

“Neither of ‘em did,” he yells back. His hand’s on Harry’s lower back, which isn’t that weird, but he’s hyperaware of it in a way he usually never is which _is_ a bit odd. A _lot_ odd.

He’s drunk. Again. It’s good and the music’s loud and his ears have a beep in them and he hopes his throat won’t be sore from shouting tomorrow when he wakes up.

“Are you going to ask them about it?” Harry asks, and there are his lips again, a shudder running through Louis that he has to close his eyes to ignore.

“Not sure yet, mate,” he shakes his head, grinning. “Maybe I’ll just watch them try to hide it from me!”

“You are a menace,” Harry smiles, and then he’s dragging Louis over to the dance floor.

Neither of them can dance, but that’s okay.

`

Louis should’ve known that he wouldn’t be able to procrastinate the _serious thinking about feelings_ forever.

It’s something he tends to do, and although it definitely works out at times, usually because by the time he should’ve dealt with his issues they’re already fixed, this is not one of those lucky moments. Which means that it kind of blows up in his face.

It’s a Saturday and he’s waiting for Harry to come over, Zayn over at Liam’s place again (they still haven’t talked to Louis about their thing and Louis isn’t sure if they know that he knows) when he gets a text message.

“so _sorry!!! cant come by 2day”_

 _“ok”_ Louis types, even as something in his stomach twists painfully. He bites his lip as he sends it because he’s last seen Harry on Monday when he dropped by the bakery and he’d been looking forward to spending some time with the lad.

“ _bf has eve off so he wnts 2 take me out_ _J so dnt text yea? still sorry btw”_

Louis stares at the screen for a long minute.

His fingers hover over the keys and he starts a reply multiple times over but he’s not sure _what_ to say.

The twist in his guts is tightening, and it takes a while to register that he’s actually shaking a little. Louis takes a couple of deep breaths as he pulls his legs up close to his chest.

Maybe after he sends a text he can ignore this for a while longer.

“ _dnt worry mate haev a gud time”_

It doesn’t help, not in the slightest.

The idea of Harry being with this bloke has latched itself onto his brain and he can’t get rid of it. What’s worse is that it makes him feel bad—but not sick, or vaguely abhorrent the way he felt the first time he stumbled upon gay porn or the mix of disgust and fascination when Eleanor made him watch a lad on lad vid.

Instead he feels empty, _sad_ , like he wants to be screaming or crying, not punch someone.

He doesn’t do either of those things. Instead, Louis checks the booze they’ve got in the cupboard and decides he needs some more, so he flits out to buy a bottle of vodka before he holes himself up in the empty flat.

Phone turned off, Louis pours some vodka into a glass.

He grimaces at the taste, but it gets better after the first sip and the burning in his throat eases fast enough.

By the time he’s on drink number four, he feels like an emotional wreck. The feelings are only threatening to choke him up, so Louis keeps drinking, drinking, drinking to find that place of blissful emotional numbness.

When half the bottle is gone, he’s starting to feel sick of the turmoil of emotions in his belly and the alcohol only makes them burn brighter.

At three-quarters through the litre, he stumbles into his bedroom, world spinning dangerously. He barely manages to pull the trashcan next to his bed just in case, before he passes out, tears slipping from his eyes as he presses the palms of his hands to them, breath coming in quick gasps while he tries to push everything from his mind.

-

The next morning, Louis wakes up with a spinning head and a vile taste in his mouth.

It takes one look at the trashcan to see what happened to warrant that, so he pulls a face and gets up slowly before taking the bag out and tying it up.

The only upsides are that he doesn’t remember throwing up, and he doesn’t have _as_ bad of a hangover as he should’ve had. The downside is that when he exits his room, he finds Zayn in the living room, clearly judging him.

“You were meant to meet me and Liam for lunch today,” he points out. “That’s why you weren’t going to go out.”

Louis groans. “Fuck, sorry,” he manages to croak. His throat’s more sore than he’d thought which is just the cherry on the pie. “I’m just gonna throw this out.”

Zayn nods.

He’s still waiting when Louis returns from the waste container in the basement a little while later.

“You alright?” he asks. Louis sneaks a glance at Zayn, in case he’s about to go off on a rant, but he just stares at Louis like he’s a little worried.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, going to grab a cuppa. “’m fine.”

“Wasn’t Harry here last night?”

“No,” Louis shakes his head. “He was out with his, uh, his boyfriend.”

“Who you still haven’t met, even though you’ve been friends with Harry for a while now” Zayn states.

“Yup.”

It’s quiet for a while, and Louis almost thinks he’s gotten away with it before Zayn talks again. “Is he the one you’re jealous of?”

“Definitely not,” Louis tells Zayn, not looking at him as he turns on the television, cradling his tea between both hands.

“Didn’t you call him Bobard when you got drunk the other day?” Zayn snickers.

“I did not, and shut up,” Louis tells him, and then proceeds to ignore any other questions from Zayn, especially now that he’s quite sure that he _is_ in fact jealous of Bob. _Bobard_. He’s fairly sure that it _did_ happen but really, for all he cares Harry’s dating Bob the Builder, and Louis’s gonna deal with that the right way. The _adult_ way.

-

Okay so maybe Louis is an adult, but only as a technicality.

It certainly doesn’t mean he hasn’t done his share of mischievous, sneaky or even downright childish things since he was eighteen.

Apparently it also means that he can’t deal with Harry dating someone that he doesn’t like. Someone he _might_ have liked if they hadn’t been with Harry. Because Louis is pretty sure, for like at least ninety percent, that _he_ would like to date Harry.

Which is a really fucking weird idea.

It also means that he sits up to four am on nights before classes twice in one week, watching gay porn and pretending he isn’t blushing or uncomfortably aroused. There’s a _lot_ of stuff that makes him feel a little sick or turned off—what are _bears_ and why are they attractive, for example.

But the second night he finds a video with a boy that looks a lot like Harry—the same dark hair and pink lips, and it’s too much for him to handle. The sickening coil is back in his stomach, present even through his arousal, and he pushes his laptop closed as he bites down on his lip because it proves more than enough, for Louis.

The next time he sees Harry, he stubbornly tries to keep his voice level as he asks, “How was your date?”

Harry’s lips curl up in a slow smile. “It was lovely. Bob took me out for dinner and we watched a film afterwards.”

“So, uh,” Louis frowns, wondering how he should formulate this. He used to leave Harry’s relationship alone, never showing any active interest in his personal life, but right now jealousy is burning fiercely in his veins. “Do you see each other often?”

Harry picks up on it right away, of course. Because that’s just Louis’ luck. “Why the sudden interest, Lou?”

Louis shrugs. “Kinda wondered why we never get to see him, you know? Kinda shady.” The words are bitter on his tongue, and Louis regrets them as soon as he’s spoken them.

Something like disappointment flits across Harry’s face, but it’s gone before Louis can blink. “He’s got a busy job, okay? And when he’s off I like to spend my time with him.” Then he smirks, leaning close enough for Louis to feel his breath, warm on his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. “Do alone time things.”

“Um,” Louis mutters, looking down at his fingers as he starts to pick on a loose thread in the couch.

“Don’t unravel my couch, please,” Harry then says politely, leaning back. “And don’t be jealous, you twat—“ Louis’ head shoots up at that, he _can’t help it_ , “I’ve still got plenty of time left for my friends. You’ll definitely get to meet Bob, eventually.”

“Okay,” Louis nods, grateful that Harry hasn’t picked up on the real reason why he’s jealous.

Kind of.

Because it means that Harry, who still thinks Louis is entirely, definitely, 100% straight and secure in that knowledge, and therefore unlikely to develop feelings for Harry, wants to cuddle him to make him feel better. And technically, since Louis already _has_ developed feelings, it’s too late to warn him anyway so Louis isn’t going to _now._

Instead he closes his eyes and lets Harry’s hands find his hair, gently scratching his nails against the scalp before massaging the skin with his fingers.

This is what he’d like heaven to be like.

It’s so easy to lean into Harry, his limbs relaxed, void of the tension he _should_ be feeling. Harry’s devoting this time to him though, so he takes a moment to think _suck it Bob_ before letting his mind go blank and completely focused on Harry’s massage.

At some point, Harry starts singing, and it isn’t a song that Louis knows; might be something Harry’s making up on the spot.

It’s gorgeous.

When he wakes up, Louis does feel far better rested, courtesy of Harry Styles who apparently now in addition to the focus of his wank fantasies has also become the person to sing him to sleep.

Harry himself is gone from the couch, having left Louis with a blanket draped over him; the smell of dinner wafts over from the kitchen block and makes Louis’ mouth water.

They end up eating on the couch, which is fine by Louis because he isn’t sure if he’d been able to keep his mind from shouting _date, it’s a date_ at him otherwise.

-

“So, Lou, how’ve you been doing?” Harry smirks when they meet at the pub.

Louis groans, because Harry _knew_ , no doubt, that he had exams.

“Dead on me feet,” he says. “You should buy me a drink or ten. Give me a massage too, while you’re at it.”

“Don’t think the hooligans over there’d like that,” Harry winks at him. “Display of homoeroticism, and all that.”

“I’d say that’s all the more reason for you to go ahead anyway,” Louis sticks out his tongue. If there’s one thing he’s learnt about Harry over the past months, it’d be that he’s at least as likely as Louis to challenge other people’s perspectives and ideals.

“Maybe,” Harry shrugs, waving over the bartender. “Maybe we should just wait ‘till we go home.”

“Is this an invitation,” Louis waggles his eyebrows. He’s gotten better at ignoring the tension in his stomach that always comes with flirting with Harry, smirking through it as he waves at his empty glass.

Harry’s eyes are still glittering as he rakes a hand through Louis’ hair. “Maybe.”

They’re close enough that Louis has to move an inch, _just an inch_ , and then Harry pulls back, breaking the moment.

“They’re staring at us,” he snickers, pointing at the football fans that Louis had long forgotten.

“Good for ‘em,” he grumbles, not bothering to look over his shoulder.

Now that the moment’s over he feels ashamed of what he’s done, enough so that he’d very much like to slap himself for being such an idiot.

He tells himself that this is what Harry’s like. He flirts with everyone—Louis has seen it happen right in front of him when Niall wouldn’t leave the flat—and it’s. It means _nothing_. It can’t mean anything, because Harry has a boyfriend and Louis is still claiming he’s straight, and flirting isn’t flirting when it’s destined to go nowhere.

-

Yeah, so, he ends up shouting shit at everyone else in the pub later that night.

“I’m _straight_ ,” he slurs again, this time in the ear of one of the football fans’ when he comes to help Louis off the bar. He stumbles a little but then he’s on the floor again, still swaying a little. “Played footy meself for—lotsa years, even.”

He pokes at what he thinks is a nipple and the guy starts to laugh. “You’re a goner, dude,” he says, peeling Louis’ arm away from his shoulder. “We all saw the way your boyfriend nearly kissed you.”

“Haz—“ Louis frowns, “Hazza’s not my boyfriend.”

“He looked at you like he was,” the lad snickers and Louis tries to push him away.

“No, no, _no_ ,” he protests, shaking his head. “Harry has a boyfriend, he’s called Bobard. Bob. I dunno, but he already _has_ one.”

“You already said that, calm down,” the footy man frowns. “Someone should get home. Where’d your friend get to anyway?”

Louis groans as he sinks down on a chair. Someone puts a glass of water in front of him and he gratefully drinks it. “Dunno, fucked off a while back.”

He can’t really remember where Harry went to, either. Maybe he got phoned by _Bob_ again because he’d ignored a call earlier tonight, maybe he went outside, and can’t get back in because it’s damn busy in the pub. Maybe he just left Louis here, maybe he figured out Louis isn’t as straight as he thought he is.

“Maybe he’s a homophobe,” Louis mutters, and the man rolls his eyes Louis.

“You keep drinking that water, mate,” he says, “I’ll go find that lad of yours.”

“Not my—“ Louis starts to protest, but his stomach seizes dangerously when he opens his mouth so he shuts it again, swallowing away the acidic tickle with a gulp of water.

The bloke in the England shirt’s already gone, though, and Louis is kind of glad because he was starting to feel a bit fidgety. Now he’s left waiting though, and without the distraction of conversation the room really is swaying quite dangerously. He’s so tired too and he’d have put his head on the table to rest, if he hadn’t known that will most likely make him throw up.

Then there’s a familiar voice thanking footy lad, and Harry slips in next to him.

“You okay, Louis?” he asks, and he’s so, so sweaty. His forehead is glistening and his curls are all damp and Louis stares at him for a while because he wants to kiss Harry and he hates that he can’t. Because he might really fancy Harry but he’s also pretending to be straight and Harry has a boyfriend.

“Where were you?”

“I was dancing,” Harry frowns, “I was sure I told you?”

And now Louis remembers—Harry _was_ dancing, he’d tried to drag Louis along but Louis declined, not feeling up for either touching Harry or standing next to Harry touch someone else. Instead of watching that happen, he’d let Harry get out of sight and focused on drinks instead.

He’s pretty sure there’d been a few girls trying to chat him up, but he’d turned them down. Maybe he snapped at them, he doesn’t know.

“I just wanna go home,” he mutters gloomily and Harry sighs and nods.

“Yeah, just let me grab our coats and we’ll be on our way.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Harry thank the footy lad. Then he’s gone for a while, before Louis’ phone buzzes in his pocket.

_they wnt let me back in, im at the door_

Louis grumbles as he gets up, holding the table as he almost trips, and then he stumbles his way to the exit.

Harry’s waiting where he said he’d be, huddled in his own coat and staring at a streetlight. Louis doesn’t feel much of the cold outside, and Harry tuts at him when Louis announces his presence with a loud burp.

“Don’t need my coat,” he tells Harry, because he’s fairly sure that the cold is going to be good against the nausea that’s starting to grow in his stomach.

“Yes, you do,” Harry giggles, “’cause you’re drunk and you might freeze, Tommo. C’mon.”

Which is how it happens that Louis is manhandled into his own bloody coat by a bloke several inches taller than him.

(Which is okay, because Harry’s nice and warm and lets Louis hug him for a bit before he’s dragged home).

-

“Are you sure you are only getting drunk on your own for _fun_?” Zayn asks Louis the next day.

“Yeah,” Louis moans from his place on the couch, his face pressed into a pillow.

“Are you sure?” Louis nods but Zayn doesn’t appear to notice because he keeps talking. Louis has never found someone else’s voice so _grating_ —but then again, even his _own_ voice gives him a headache right now. “Because when Harry got you back home, he said you got jealous.”

Louis stills, something inside of him turning into ice.

“What?” he says, slowly lifting up from the pillow to look at Zayn.

“He said he left to dance with someone, then some bloke comes up to say his boyfriend is jealous because he was dancing with girls or summat,” Zayn stares at him and he doesn’t look like he thinks it’s very funny—Louis is kind of glad for that. “Dragged Harry back to you and when Harry thanked him, the bloke told him to sort you out cause you claimed you were straight.”

“I am-“ Louis starts to protests, but Zayn shakes his head slowly, squinting at him.

“I’ve seen the way you look at Harry, mate.”

“Don’t look at Harry at all,” Louis whines, pushing his face back in the glorious softness of the pillow.

The couch dips beside him and then Zayn’s hands are on Louis’ shoulders, gently massaging him. “You know when I first started hangin’ out with Liam, yeah?” Louis nods. “An’ I figured, he’s just some nice lad, doesn’t mean anything at all that I wanna kiss him.”

This time Louis just swallows away the sour taste in his mouth, because the notes hit a place inside of him that reverbs _Harry has a boyfriend, though_.

“Except then we did kiss,” he sighs and his hands go still on Louis’ back. “Which I’m guessing you either already knew, or Harry told you.”

“Both,” Louis admits, muffled by the pillow.

“An’ it was weird at first, for the both of us, but then it was fine.”

“Harry has a boyfriend,” Louis points out, because he can’t keep this in any longer, and then he’s trembling. “I shouldn’t like him because I’m straight and I especially shouldn’t like him because he’s _taken_.”

“You do like him, then?” Zayn smiles a little, pushing Louis’ hair from his eyes.

Louis only nods.

“Well, let’s hope this Bobard guy fucks off sometime soon, then, ‘cause I agree with the bloke who thought you and Harry were together.”

Louis huffs out a quiet laugh and Zayn pulls him close for a quick hug.

“I was gonna see Liam at three, but I can tell him I can’t or if he wants to hang out here.”

“No, it’s fine,” Louis waves him away. “You go fuck your boy.”

“Actually-“ Zayn says with a smirk in his voice, and Louis does _not_ want to hear this so he covers up his ears dramatically and Zayn starts laughing properly.

“See you later, mate,” he says, before getting up.

Louis tries to sleep some more.

-

The next day, he finds himself on the doorstep to Harry’s and Niall’s flat. He’d texted Niall to be sure it would be just Harry there to avoid any awkward interactions, and he’s tapping out a rhythm against his thigh.

Louis knows he should say something, anything, about Friday and what a massive cock-up it was, but when Harry opens the door, he frowns instead, all the words he’d thought up gone from his mind in an instant.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asks, and Harry just shakes his head and lets him in.

“Sit down, I’ll get us tea,” is all response he gets from Harry.

It’s not that Harry looks _bad_ per se. He’s not injured, or at least not that Louis can see, he’s wearing his normal clothes and music’s playing as always—but he looks tired, and above all, he looks sad.

Shoving his own issues aside for the moment—they can wait, as usual—he pulls Harry down to sit next to him on the couch instead of in the lounge chair. If they’re going to have a heart-to-heart, Louis refuses to do so without touching Harry.

He puts his hand on Harry’s shoulder and tells him, “Spill.”

“I broke up with Bob,” Harry says, and the brutal simplicity of the statement—and then all that it implements—takes Louis by surprise.

“You did what now?” he croaks, his own heart hammering in his throat.

“It didn’t work,” Harry huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he looks down. “We didn’t work. Never did, I don’t think.”

“That why you never let us meet him?” Louis tries to joke, but it comes out a bit snappish.

“No, that was just—“ Harry shrugs, helplessly. “I don’t know, Lou. I should feel bad, but I don’t, and that’s what’s just—“

And then there are tears falling from Harry’s eyes, so Louis pulls him close and ignores the warmth in his guts that tries to overwhelm him even as he toys with Harry’s curls.

-

Louis walks in on Zayn and Liam having sex in his living room when he gets back from Harry’s that night.

Or—not the sex itself, he’s pretty sure they’re done with that, but they’re cuddled up on the couch and most definitely sticky and naked.

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t see that,” he snorts, walking off into the kitchen.

Ever since Harry told him that he and Bob broke up earlier today, Louis has been feeling off kilter, and even seeing Zayn’s and Liam’s dicks out like that fails to impress him now.

He’s just put the kettle on when Zayn comes into the alcove that serves as their kitchen. “You okay?”

“I am,” Louis nods. “Scarred for life by you lot, though.”

“Niall texted me this morning, said Harry and his boyfriend broke up.”

“Yeah, ‘s what Harry told me,” Louis nods. “Held him while he cried and everything.”

“You didn’t hold me when Perrie and I broke up,” Zayn grins at him, and Louis resists the urge to grab the nearest utensil and smack Zayn for his audacity.

“You wanted to be held by Liam, though,” he winks at Zayn instead.

“I did,” Zayn confirms. “Do you reckon you’ll tell Harry? About your thing?”

And that’s the subject Louis has been thinking about all day, the thing that’s thrown him off and makes him feel a little weird in his stomach. Because it all was easy when Harry was off-limits and only inspired Louis’ first two-dick wank fantasies, but it’s a little different now he knows that Harry is on the market again.

At the same time, it might mean that Harry ends up with another bloke if Louis doesn’t seize his chance now. If there’s a chance for him at all, because for all he knows Harry just sees him as a good friend.

Zayn snorts, snapping Louis from his thoughts.

“In case you’re worried about him not fancying you, and I’ve to say that’s pretty out of character for you, Tommo, the three of us are rooting for you.”

“Who, you, Liam and your arsehole?” Louis turns off the kettle, water boiling by now, and pours himself a cup of tea.

“Me, Liam and Niall, you arse,” Zayn’s still grinning as he grabs the kettle from Louis and fills two more mugs. “Honestly, you were flirting bad enough even back when we didn’t know you fancy Harry.”

And okay. Okay, Zayn has a point.

He’s gone before Louis can come up with another smart reply, but he decides he’ll talk to Harry on Friday. That way he’ll have had some time to get over whatever he had going on with _Bobard_ , and hopefully he’ll, like, kiss Louis.

Louis doesn’t even think he’d mind if it was in a public place.

-

It’s on Wednesday afternoon when he’s at Harry’s again and Louis can’t keep his mouth shut any longer.

Harry’s nowhere as sad as Louis had expected, smiling as wide as ever and grabbing Louis’ arm whenever he wants to tell something exciting. His touch lingers for ages afterwards, and even when Harry finally withdraws, Louis can still feel the prickle under his skin and the tingle in his stomach.

They’re sitting close enough to touch again, and Louis can feel it, can feel the words bubble up in his throat, and he’s biting his lip to keep them from falling from his tongue unwarranted.

Harry’s eyes keep flicking down to Louis’ mouth, and Louis can feel his breathing speed up and he’d planned to do this on Friday, thought he’d do it in a public setting so he wouldn’t need to see Harry too upset in case of a friendship ruined; didn’t want to let the memories cling to a place either he or Harry had to return to at the end of the day.

Now, though, now Louis’ heart is overflowing and he’s feeling a little, just a little, crazy.

Harry’s been sending him messages all weekend, of his food and selfies of himself and Gemma, and of the new tattoo he’d gotten in order to close off this chapter of his life.

Louis’ favourite had come on Sunday night, though, Harry’s face and shoulder filling the screen of his smartphone, eyes sleepy and a lazy smile on his lips.

“Haz-“ he manages, when they’ve inadvertedly managed to drift yet even closer, like flotsam and jetsam on the waves, and it’s meant to be a warning to Harry, or a way out in case he doesn’t want this, but it feels like he’s tumbling down a steep slope and there’s nothing he can do to stop.

“I’m not straight,” is what comes out first, and that’s what snaps the coil between them, the thing that had been pulling them closer physically, but Harry nods and doesn’t seem too upset. “I mean,” Louis takes a deep breath, because he wants to kiss Harry, he does, but he doesn’t want to unless Harry knows what it means to him. “I like you, Harry. I like you more than _like_ , I—“

Harry pushes a laugh from his chest, deep inside, and Louis melts a little. Then there are two large hands cupping the sides of his face, and he’s mumbling, “I knew, Lou, I knew, you told me all when you were drunk.”

“Never trust a drunk,” Louis points out, shaking a little against Harry’s warm skin, their lips brushing together, because he’s nervous again and he can feel Harry smile.

“The drunk always tell the truth, didn’t you know?” Harry grins and then Louis does too, their teeth clicking together when they finally move in for the kiss.

-

“So,” Louis asks him when they’re having pizza later that night, “did you break up with Bob because of me? Saying all that?”

Harry nods. “Of course. I just—I never realised-“ he shrugs. “You’re kind of perfect for me, Lou.”

-

Zayn and Liam have put up a rainbow coloured flag in the living room when Louis returns to his own flat the next day. Louis snickers and shakes his head, even though it’s definitely appropriate.

On his bed, he finds a card that says “Happy coming-out!”

He thinks it’s Zayn and Niall’s, but when he flips it open, it says “xoxo Jay” and there’s a note in the envelope underneath that says, “ _We sent your mum a picture of you and Harry asleep on the couch a while back. This came in the mail a couple of days ago. –Zayn & Niall”_

Louis goes back into the living room, card in hand, and shows it to Harry, who’s got them tea and sits on the couch waiting for him.

“So happy for you,” he mutters against Louis cheek, kissing him.

Louis nods giddily before dragging Harry back in for a proper snog.

 

[end]

 

**Author's Note:**

> I want a h/l friends to lovers fic from Louis’ p.o.v. of louis and harry being friends and either set in high school or college.. louis thinks that he’s straight but when he befriends harry (they met like in a bakery or at a party) he started to feel something he has never felt before and he started questioning himself. And then he finds out that Harry has a boyfriend and it turns into this unrequired love. So he thinks but whenever harry and louis spend time together, there is this sexual tension between them and they always seem to end up flirting.. but Louis is too blind to see it. Then Harry breaks up with his boyfriend and the next time Harry and Louis hangs out. Louis kisses him.


End file.
